It Won't Be Hard to Start Again
by paintingAmystery
Summary: a one-shot SONGFIC, based on the song 'happier' by guster. about a whole load of people impacted when one person tries to be happier, and i have to admit that none of them come out overtly happy... but RR and i will be... THANKS


**It Won't Be Hard to Start Again**

**Based on the song "Happier" by Guster**

_* Say goodbye, lose your friends, make them go, don't need them around_

_'Cause it's time, lose your friends, make them go, was never supposed to be like this *_

Harry Potter stirs under the soft light of a dozen streetlamps.  The chill of October begs entrance into the warmth of his blankets but is silently denied, and the baby boy sleeps on.  He has been left on the doorstep of his dead mother's sister, a deep gash left unattended at the place where his hair parts.  Already he is the image of his father, who is also dead.  He knows none of this.  He does not know that he is a wizard, or that his parents were murdered by a wizard.  He does not know that he has been born into a fate so grand that, even in the same moment that he dreams of things unknown, a nation of wizards are passing his name between them.  And these wizards hardly know half of the story.  They do not know that one among their number, Albus Dumbledore, who folds his hands thoughtfully and smiles sadly, has a secret  They do not know that Harry Potter, the boy who lived, is foredoomed to bring about the true death of a Dark Lord they no longer fear, or else that the boy must die at his hands.  They do not speak in whispers anymore, hardly hiding themselves from Muggles and much less their fellows and former friends.  The age of suspicion is over for them.  Harry Potter does not know, either, that his mother and father were offered up by a man they called a friend, does not know that his own life was bartered for welcome into a cult of shadows.  

_* They were too weak, too prone to break_

_Their needs too deep, their skin too thin_

_By now you took what was to take_

_Tear it apart and start again *_

Sirius Black is running into the dark house.  He has just landed noisily and carelessly in the middle of a dark and silent Godric's Hollow.  He touches the door and it collapses before him.  His heart flutters pointlessly, his doubt and his trust pounding at the inside of his body, his excuses building as they always had in their old days of mischief.  The hall is behind him now, and he looks back to see the wreck.  Portraits are empty and crooked, scorch marks wind along the corridor, about chest height, spells that brushed the wall on their way to the target.  He runs a gentle finger along the nearest of them.  It is still warm.  He knows it now, knows it is over.  He takes the final steps into the space that had been the living room, the place where they had spoken, considered names.  He remembers all of a sudden that Lily had been home, that baby Harry would be here, his godson.  And all the while he had been thinking of James.  His godson…

The living space is a vast hole of shattered things, broken in walls, upturned furniture.  The struggle is apparent, as is the victor.  Sirius Black does not look at James, his wide eyes hopeless, his lips tight with pain and fear.   His passage into the next room is only vaguely obstructed, the hole in the wall is barred only by a single fallen stud.  A baby cries.  Sirius throws his head around, his hair brushing his ears as he turns to look behind him.  There is nothing there, and Sirius lays his tentative glance over the body of Lily Potter.  Her tears remind him that he too is crying, weeping openly in the house of the dead and hearing babies which cannot be crying just behind him.

He is outside before the sound can tap at his eardrums again, beat against them, grate him.  He feels himself shaking and makes no move to stop it, feels his heart breaking and lets the pieces fall.  He does not deserve those pieces, he does not deserve to be here.  And he remembers that he cannot be here, remembers that they will find him anyhow.  A large form closes in on him, unnoticed.  The massive shadow enters the house as Sirius paces the front lawn, unseeing, thinking only on his mistake.  Thinking of Remus, who he had distanced and hated, thinking of James who he had killed, thinking of Peter...  The door cracks in two as the dark figure leaving the house steps on it.  

He has a baby in his arms.  Harry Potter waves a tightly clenched and very much alive fist as though in anger at his captor.  Sirius stops thinking, stops remembering.  He looks at his godson, the orphan he had wrought of a happy child.  He looks so much like James.

_* So go on, if this will make you happier_

_It got you this far, did what you had to *_

Remus Lupin stares blankly across the room at the door which has just closed behind the retreating back of Albus Dumbledore.  His stomach churns and he feels ill, the grey and the pain of the full moon still staining his hair and complexion, still scratched into the lines by his eyes.  He sees the dark blue robes flash out of the door again and again, unaware of passing time.  He marvels silently at how alone he can feel.  Peter and James are deep in hiding.  Sirius has ignored a number of owls, which has irritated his former companion above all else.  Remus Lupin does not want to believe that it is Sirius passing the information needed over to Voldemort, and, indeed, cannot, for Lily and James are unassailed under their Fidelius Charm.  But Peter was always too weak and too foolish, too full of his hero-worship to cross James or Sirius.  Remus Lupin almost smiles as he remembers the people who would cross him.  He had never done anything, never made a difference.  And what can he do now?  

He tries to rise and make tea, but is asleep in his armchair within moments.  He rips his own flesh as two shadows look on.  The third looks away.  Remus Lupin recognizes him and wakes up surprised.  He wishes he can remember who it had been as he casts his charms on the door which has been unguarded since Albus Dumbledore left him.  He falls back asleep, forgetting he can hardly breathe, forgetting he had dreamed before, forgetting he is crying through the crack between his eyelids.

_* You've wasted every moment of your Saturdays and your Sundays_

_You're wasted from the boredom, was never supposed to be like this *_

James Potter sighs.  His wife folds her arms with a grumpy expression which still manages to be loving.  He doesn't want to come to bed.  After a while of looking at one another, each remembering real fights and smiling a little bit more at the thought of this false one, a soft sob bounces down the stairs.  Slowly it rises into a full-blown tantrum.  James Potter crosses the room, pausing to kiss his wife on the cheek before climbing to steps to fetch their son.  They all curl up together in front of the fire in the living room.  James doesn't tell his wife what has him so preoccupied, and Lily doesn't ask.  He doesn't know his wife's intuition, doesn't realize that she had felt it too, the slight tremor of their home which may or may not have been it being revealed to someone.  The vase he had claimed to have broken by accident still lay in pieces on the floor in front of the cold mantle, a constant reminder of what may or may not have been.

James fidgets slightly under his wife's arm.  Their baby sits between them, taking the silent moment to absorb them.  James looks back at him, seeing the image himself with Lily's eyes.  This, the father knows, is James as he should have been; he should always have seen through Lily's eyes.  And now their son would look in the mirror, with only mild frequency, and see himself with his mother's eyes.  He is a beautiful baby.  James lifts his head to look over at his wife, whose gorgeous green eyes jerk from the broken vase to the child.  She lifts her arm after her husband offers a slight pressure.  James strides across the room to the fragments of the vase and extracts his wand.  The scene is suddenly frozen as James hovers, brandishing his wand at the intrusive pieces, Lily stares down at her son as though considering covering his eyes, and Harry Potter forms a memory.  There is a scratching sound at the door. 

"Lily, take Harry and go- It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off…"

His wife finally abandons him for the empty room off this one.  The vase lies untouched on the floor.  Uncounted strides take James Potter to the door. 

_* Like your father said, just do what was done unto you... always_

_In your father's steps you'll do what was done unto you_

_It won't be hard to start again *_

Peter Pettigrew wrings his hands in the shadows.  The hiding place is empty now, all his things have been moved.  The Dark Lord will be here for him soon, here to see him away from this place, these memories.  He is busy, pacing back and forth and hoping the Dark Lord arrives before Sirius, who he knows is planning to stop in.  He whispers to himself about Sirius, about Remus.  He whispers about Lily and James, and no one is there to hear him.  Peter transforms for a moment, as a distraction.  The mouse shakes its whiskers angrily at the emptiness of the room.  In a moment, Peter is back.  He alone among the Marauders will not cry on this day, though he cannot escape the confused emotions.  Even the rat can feel them, guilt, fear, impatience.  

_* So go on, if this will make you happier_

_It got you this far, do what you have to *_

James Potter is dead, his blank eyes staring with horror into the stars slowly passing over him.  The bodies are set gently in the back of the van.  Nobody knows what left the single line of skid marks in front of the drive, and nobody bothers to know.  Bartemius Crouch, the Aurors, and the rest of the men in charge are busy scanning the skies, as though it will take the lot of them and their particular brand of genius absolute silence and a moment or two to find what would normally have been a sparkling green terror hovering over the scene.  Albus Dumbledore sweeps nearer, his blue robes catching none of the dust off the street.  The vans have gone now.  Dumbledore whispers something to Crouch, whose eyes are immediately removed.  They come to rest on the house as the corner of Crouch's mouth carries out a lengthy discussion with Albus Dumbledore.  A streetlight flashes on, then the next.  

Barty Crouch is waving the Aurors back, calling them into a sort of huddle.  They shake their heads, occasionally looking back at the house as though suspicious it too was plotting, plotting against them.  Then somebody cheered.  When they straighten up to explain to the onlookers, they noticed Dumbledore has gone, lost in the darkness.  Lily and James Potter are dead. 

_*  (__Well you knew this would come)_

_And you're gone now_

_(And you've left me all alone)_

_And did it make you happier?_

_(And you're lost and long gone, don't take it so seriously)_

_It wasn't that hard_

_(Go on and get goin, I'm fine on my own)_

_Did what you had to_

_(We got you this far, finally got it figured out) *_

Remus Lupin lays the _Prophet_ open in his lap.  Ages spin around him as tears melt the words into one another, warp the pictures.  The headline alone can hold its own against the miserable droplets, and glares up at him, defiant.  Remus Lupin reads it again.  _Black Kills 13, Brought to Azkaban.  _There will be no trial, Barty Crouch has pushed that nuisance out of the way.  Peter Pettigrew is dead, the only casualty from the wizarding world.  Sirius Black has killed him, killed James.  Remus looks away from the headlines, trying to find something else to display interest in, and he wonders why he hadn't been first, how Sirius had made the transition from the closest of friends to the most distant, passing over the werewolf in the middle.  But Peter had cornered him, according to the article.  Remus's tears fall with renewed vigor as he berated himself for remaining at home, refusing to believe the obvious.  He could have replaced Peter in that article, he might even have brought Black down.  He almost laughs, knowing he is kidding himself with this.  He would never have brought Black down.  The would-be laughter becomes a sharp sob.  

Remus remembers thinking he was alone before he had those friends, remembers finding them.  And now, he tells himself, he has this day to remember as the day he lost them all.  Word had come in that Lily and James had died, and now Sirius is lost to the dementors and Peter is lost to Sirius.  Remus clenches his fist, though it is rather claw-like now.  Even daylight does not let him forget the wolf, which had been prison and then freedom.  He knows it will become a prison again, as the next full moon approaches.   Already he drags his nails across his arm and removes warm flesh with his horror, his shame, his loss.  The three bloodied lines look up at him.  His three friends are dead.

_* One more itch you son of a bitch_

_You've been wasting my time... always_

_And now you're half awake_

_You bend till you break_

_And make the same mistakes... always *_

Sirius Black unfolds the prophet the Minister had left with him the day before.  The cross-word is completed, at least mentally, and the cover stories, obituaries, marriage notices, advertisements, and assorted other sections have been scanned for evidence of Remus's physical and emotional survival.  He opens a sheet at the middle, which may have been stuck together with filth for the past few hours, and realizes that it has gone unchecked.  His hollowed eyes rove across the page, coming to rest on a small picture of a large family.  Arthur Weasley and his wife look up at him questioningly, while the children shrink back in plain fear.  On one of their shoulders…

Sirius digs a sharp nail into the page, slowly, ever so slowly carving out the article.  The remainder of the paper is choking in his tightly clenched left hand, and he ignores it thoroughly.  His eyes remain glued to the page, the boy with the rat looking quite petrified.  Sirius smiles a strangled smile, triumph sparkling in his eyes before a black shadow passes and removes it entirely.  Sirius takes a deep breath and realizes that Peter is still in his head, realizes that this thought is not lost, even if his gladness at having had it is.  Triumph flashes through him for another instant and is gone, Peter etched even more deeply into his mind.  He reads the article through, then again, and again until he has it memorized.  And then he stares at the picture until he has that memorized as well.  He buries the article deep in his only set of robes and feels its miniscule weight against his breast.  The remainder of the paper is slowly burning in his left hand.  A dementor passes and the one fire dies.  Sirius lays back and looks up at the ceiling of his pitiful home.  The other fire continues to rage within.  _He's at Hogwarts._

_* So go on, if this will make you happier_

_It got you this far, do what you have to *_

Harry Potter has his wand at the chest of Sirius Black.  The boy glares down at a broken man, unmoving, unflinching.  His right hand is steadily holding what would have been a powerful weapon.  Sirius stares up at him, trying to think.  The cat digs sharp claws into the prisoner's chest, guarding him against his own god son.  Harry hasn't spoken the words yet, and silently berates himself for every second of delay.  They both jerk slightly as muffled sounds reach their ears.  Harry holds his wand on Black again, refusing to look away as the steps grow louder.  He has forgotten that he doesn't know the spell, that he doesn't have the power.  He has forgotten that someone is coming, forgotten everything except that Sirius Black is lying before him, prostrate and poorly guarded indeed, and that he, Harry, has the wand.  He feels a slight prickle in his wand arm as the door explodes open.  He is too late.

_* Well you knew this would come *_

The boy tells them his father would not have them commit murder.

_* And you're gone now *_

The prisoner smiles for the first time in twelve years.

_* And you've left me all alone *_

The werewolf goes rigid under the light of the full moon.

_* And did it make you happier? *_

The stag presses his head toward a warm hand but is gone too soon.

_* And you're lost and long gone, don't take it so seriously *_

The traitor does not look back as he scurries out of the village on the other side of the forest.

_* It wasn't that hard *_

James Potter sees his son in the graveyard.

_* Go on and get going, I'm fine on my own *_

Remus Lupin asks the boy what form his Patronus takes.

_* Did what you had to *_

Sirius Black presses a brown package into his godson's hand.

_* We got you this far, finally got it figured out *_

Harry Potter screams.

~*~ 

A/N – I have always loved songfics, and have always wanted to write a good one. Be sure to leave me something to let me know if I've done that yet!! Anyhow, loads of explanations of my ultra-vague emotions here. – The hugest of all deals is that it did NOT make peter any happier to do what he did. Next in hugeness would be the line about do what was done unto you with the whole father thing thrown in, which throws and interesting light on Harry's choice to stop Sirius and Remus from killing Peter. That's the first of the events at the end, then Sirius asking Harry to stay with him, then Remus transforming, then Prongs, then peter escaping, then the duel with Voldie post-tourney, then Lupin verifying Harry for Moody and the Advance guard, then the two-way-mirror, then Sirius dies. OH- Time goes backward until we have the first account of Peter, in case that was confusing… im sure I forgot a lot of stuff which doesn't matter because you read the story and I appreciate it. YAY!

Oh, and many thanks to JKR! and to GUSTER!, whose lovely works I stole with no permission at all. YAY!


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